Silent Guardian

by Mallory Kane

  "Is he going to be all right?"

  Clint reached out and wiped a speck of dirt from her cheek. "I promise you, the doctors are taking very good care of him."

  Resa felt the prick of a needle in her arm, but she ignored it. "Please, Clint. Take me to him. I have to explain why I told the Lock Rapist to shoot him. I have to tell him—"

  Clint gave her a funny look before turning to the tech. "Drive her to the hospital. Put her with Archer as soon as you can."

  To Resa's ears, his voice had started slowing down, like a tape recorder running out of battery. Her head was beginning to swim and her eyes kept wanting to close. She made a huge effort to lift her gaze to Clint's. "Thank you," she mumbled as the med tech's arm wrapped around her shoulders.

  By the time they rolled Archer into his room, Resa had been there for hours. She'd lain on the couch and napped for a while. She'd showered and changed into scrubs, and she'd given her statement to Detective Childers. She'd told him everything she remembered, and in turn he'd given her the information they had on Earl S lattery, the Lock Rapist.

  Resa paced back and forth outside Archer's door until the nurse's aides who'd brought him up from recovery told her she could go back into the room.

  He was propped up with pillows and his heavily bandaged left hand was resting on a foam bolster. An IV was attached to his right hand, and a bandage covered the side of his head. His face was shadowed with stubble, which emphasized his paleness.

  Resa stared at him. She wanted to touch him, to feel his blood pulsing through his body to assure herself that he was really alive. She'd been so scared. If the Lock Rapist had listened to her—her breath caught in a sob.

  "Hey—" His voice was thready, weak. "Resa?"

  Resa's breath hitched again. She moved closer to the bed. "Archer? Do you need something?"

  His eyes opened to a narrow slit. "You okay?" he whispered.

  "Me?" She stared at him. "I'm fine."

  He closed his eyes and leaned back against the pillows. "I'm sorry, Resa. I couldn't stop him." He shook his head slightly. "No hero," he whispered.

  "But you did. You did stop him." It hurt her to see him so weak and helpless. She knew he was drowsy from the anesthetic as well as the morphine drip, but it was hard, seeing how human he was. How fragile and easily broken his body was. She'd have sworn he was made of steel rather than flesh and bone.

  "Can I get you something? Some water?"

  He shook his head. "Bastard didn't—hurt you?"

  She gently laid her hand over his, the one with the IV. "No," she answered the question he'd implied rather than the one he'd asked. She tried to quash the awful memories of how Slattery had made her crawl. How he'd dragged her by her hair across the yard. How he'd demanded that she kneel in front of him while he unbuttoned his coverall.

  "No. He didn't—all he did was pull my hair and push me."

  His eyes closed. "Good. Go home."

  Resa recoiled as if he'd hit her. "Archer, I'm going to stay here with you."

  He forced his eyes open. They were black and intimidating, even if his focus did waver a bit. "I don't need you."

  The surprisingly strong words sliced cleanly, right through her heart. "Right. I don't care if you do or not. I'm not leaving."

  His dark gaze pinned her. "You got what you wanted. I killed him for you. Now you're free. Go— back to your apartment. Call your sister. It's over." He collapsed back against the pillows, worn out by his outburst.

  Resa felt the cool trails of tears on her cheeks. She nodded, swallowing the words that crowded up into her throat.

  If she thought it would make any difference, she'd beg him to keep her with him. But she didn't have the strength to hear him say no again.

  "I'll go. But I've got something to say first. Don't try to lay your guilt trip at my feet. You could have refused to help me." Her voice gave out. She took a deep breath, sucking in courage.

  Archer hadn't moved, hadn't acknowledged that he'd heard anything she'd said, but she knew he had.

  "But you were glad to have me, weren't you? I guess I forgot for a while that I was the bait that you dangled in front of the Lock Rapist."

  The anger that had fueled her outburst was rapidly fading. And she knew that in a few seconds she'd start to cry.

  "You got your vengeance. Now you're going back to bury yourself in your basement again, aren't you? At least this time you've got twice as much reason to feel sorry for yourself. Well, I'm sorry for you if all you can do is wallow in the past." She clenched her trembling hands into fists.

  "You're right about one thing, Archer. I'm free. I just have one last thing to say to you. When I told... him to shoot you, it wasn't because I was afraid of— of dying."

  His face hadn't changed expressions, nor had he opened his eyes. Did he even hear her or had he gone to sleep? It didn't matter. What she had to say was about her more than him, anyway.

  "I knew he was going to kill us both. But I didn't want you to have to watch. You'd been through too much."

  She wiped away the tears that were streaming down her face. "Goodbye, Archer. I hope someday you can find something to live for." She sniffled as she stood.

  "And for what it's worth, you are a hero." She watched his face for a few seconds, but he never even twitched. So she touched his right hand, just above the IV, and then turned and left.

  "You're a world-class jerk, you know that?"

  Archer glared at his friend. "Yeah, well, I've been called worse, even by you."

  "I don't get you at all. What the hell did you say to her?"

  Archer grimaced as he pulled on his shirt. The bandage on his hand barely fit through the sleeve. He stared helplessly at the buttons.

  Clint stepped up to him and took hold of his shirt lapels.

  "Get away from me."

  "Somebody's got to dress you." Clint made quick work of the buttons. "There. Now, I asked you a question. She looked crushed when she left here the other day."

  Archer stepped backward, avoiding his friend's eyes. "I told her the truth. I don't need her."

  "I take it back. You're worse than a jerk. You're a—" Clint shook his head.

  Archer sat down on the bed. His head was throbbing. "I'm a miserable, selfish jerk. Okay? Now get out of here."

  "How could you do that to her? She's been through so much."

  A queasy, hollow place inside Archer hurt like hell. Worse than his hand. It felt as if Clint had reached inside him and crushed his heart in his fist.

  He knew, despite the brave front she'd presented to him, that Resa had been through hell. He'd seen Slat-tery toss her to the ground and put his boot on her neck. He'd seen him grab her by the hair and get in her face. And he'd watched as he'd forced her to her knees.

  "Yeah, she has. And everything that happened to her was because of me. If I hadn't been so arrogant, insisting I could keep her safe, she wouldn't have had to suffer that monster's torture."

  "Slattery was a madman. He'd have gotten to her no matter where she was."

  "I killed him." Archer shuddered. He'd never killed anyone before. It was one more thing he'd have to live with the rest of his life.

  Clint nodded. "You had no choice. It's just too bad he isn't alive to stand trial. We found the original lock of hair in his wallet, along with a lock from his last victim. The district attorney tells me we can connect him to all six attacks, based on that hair. Get this. The lab guys think it was his mother's. They're getting DNA samples to compare."

  "What was he doing?"

  "We've tracked down police records. His mother was murdered when he was five years old. The shrink says he probably witnessed it. She thinks the killer may have cut a lock of his mother's hair."

  "No kidding? That's why he took his victims' hair?"

  "Yeah. It doesn't make sense to me, but the shrink says serial offenders can get things like that twisted in their heads. They found videotapes of every mention of the Lock Rapist on TV and every newspaper clippin
g that mentioned him in a box in the back of his closet. Apparently he had some kind of fixation on seeing or hearing about himself. I guess we'll never know what that was about."

  "Well, there's no doubt he was nuts. What about his family?"

  Clint shook his head. "Wife and three kids. She had no clue. He left her a note. Told her to buy a big house with his insurance money. Give his kids each a room of their own. He knew he wasn't going to make it."

  Archer grimaced. As sick and evil as Slattery had been, he was a human being, with a wife and kids who loved him. Archer would like to think he'd killed a monster, but he knew he would never forget the man's family. Just as he'd never forget Slattery's victims and their families.

  He glanced at Clint. "So have you talked to Resa?"

  Clint crossed the room to the door. "Last Wednesday. She's gone to Louisville to see her sister."

  The hollow empty place inside him ached. He rubbed his chest but it didn't help. "That's good. She loves her sister more than anything."

  "She loves you."

  Archer's head jerked. He felt as if Clint had slugged him. "You're nuts."

  "No. You are. You're not going to tell me you don't know."

  He shook his head. "You weren't here. You didn't hear what she said to me. I promised her I wouldn't let him hurt her and I didn't keep that promise. She hates me."

  "It's too bad that bullet didn't penetrate that hard head of yours. Maybe some sense would have leaked in. There's a hell of a difference between hate and hurt."

  "I can't take care of her. I can't protect her. Look at me." He held up his hands.

  "Would you get over yourself? Number one, you did protect her. You shot the Lock Rapist—a damn good shot, too, considering it was your right hand. Two, I was there when the surgeon said you'd make a full recovery." He shrugged. "And three, I don't think she wants you just because you can protect her. Why don't you think about that for a while? Maybe you'll discover there's more to love than providing protection."

  Archer frowned. He wasn't quite sure what his friend was getting at. But he didn't like being told he was wrong—about anything.

  "What the heck do you know about love?" he groused.

  His friend winced and Archer felt a twinge of guilt. "Look, Clint. Hell—I can be a jerk. I didn't mean to bring that up."

  Clint waved a hand. "Forget it." He glanced at his watch.

  Archer looked down at himself. His shirt was buttoned, but he still had to get his jeans fastened. And it wasn't going to be easy.

  He took a deep breath. "Get the hell out of here, Clint. I need to dress. I'm going home."

  Clint's brows lowered. "You mean you're going to rehab? It's only been three days since your surgery."

  Archer held up his bandaged hand. "I'll get all the rehab I need at home. You heard the doctor. The bullet went through here, the fleshy part of my palm. It didn't even graze the bone." He smiled dryly. "He said I was lucky it was just a .22 and not something larger. This should heal in no time and be good as new. At least I'll have one hand."

  Clint shrugged. "Same old Geoff. Good thing you don't need anybody, 'cause you sure aren't going to listen to them." He sent Archer a look tinged with amusement.

  "I'm out of here. Need anything else before I go? Want me to comb your hair? Help you zip up your—"

  "No!" Archer couldn't help but smile a little. "You made your point."

  "See you later. Think about what I said."

  Chapter Fourteen

  Resa reached the landing between the first and second floors of her apartment building. She turned to head up the next set of stairs and saw Archer sitting on the top step, his forearms propped on his knees and his head down.

  She stopped short, her scalp tingling with apprehension. What was he doing here? She continued slowly up the stairs, pulling her carry-on bag behind her.

  She tried not to think about what he wanted. Maybe it was something about the case. Maybe—

  He raised his head and she caught an expression she'd never seen before. It was open and oddly vulnerable, as if he were worried about something. The small square bandage on his temple drew her eye.

  An uneasy thought sent her heart jumping into her throat. Was it his hand? She looked at the bandage that left only his fingers exposed.

  He stood as she reached the top step. He held out his right hand to take her bag.

  "Don't bother. I've got it," she said. She ducked around him and pushed the key into the lock and turned it. Inside the door she turned.

  He hadn't moved.

  She frowned at him. She didn't like this new Archer. He was too quiet, too compliant. She tilted her head. What was his angle?

  "Well, aren't you going to come in?" she asked irritably.

  "May I?"

  She shoved her bag into a corner. "Come on, Archer. Stop the act. I'll bet you never in your life waited to be invited into a place you really wanted to go."

  He sent her a pensive look as he crossed the threshold. "I wouldn't say that. There are some places you just don't go without an invitation."

  Her cheeks burned at the double meaning of his remark. What was the matter with her? She was positive he hadn't meant anything by it.

  He walked around her living room, touching the edge of a painting, stopping to look at a photograph of her and her sister.

  He picked it up. "You've been in Louisville, with your mom and your sister?"

  She'd followed him with her eyes as he explored the room. She still couldn't pinpoint what wasn't right about him. There was something about the way he was acting that felt—not wrong, exactly. In fact, she thought his obvious unease was kind of endearing.

  Still, he wasn't acting like the man she'd come to know so well in the past few weeks.

  "Yes."

  "Is she doing better? And your mom?"

  Resa set her purse down on a chair and lifted her hair off her neck. "Celia is a lot better. You should have seen her when I told her he was dead. It was like the light came back on in her eyes."

  He nodded without looking at her. "I'm glad. Clint told me you saw the other victims, too."

  "I did. I went with him to let them know that the Lock Rapist was dead. I talked to each one of them for a long time. I told them about Celia, and about—"

  "Natalie." He turned and faced her. "That was a good thing you did for them."

  "You're acting strange. Is everything all right? Your hand?"

  He held up his bandaged left hand. "The doctors say it'll be good as new in a few months. That's more than they ever said for this one." He flexed his right hand.

  Good as new. She hoped Archer could be as good as new. He deserved to be.

  "I'm glad." She winced internally. She knew now that Earl Slattery was dead, there was no more reason for her and Archer to see each other. They'd been brought together by tragedy and circumstance. Now they'd go their separate ways.

  But dear God, she was going to miss him. The thought brought a stinging to her eyes.

  "What did you say?" He frowned at her.

  "What?" She put her palms to her cheeks. "I'm really tired. I didn't get much sleep at Mom's." She made a show of taking off her summer-weight jacket and laying it across the back of the couch.

  Archer leaned against her mantel and watched her, his hawklike eyes glittering in the sunlight that filtered through the curtains.

  Finally she propped her fists on her hips and stalked over to stand in front of him.

  "Why are you here? Is there something you need from me? I know I still have a few things at your house. I'll pick them up tomorrow if that's all right."

  "Resa, stop talking." He straightened.

  Even with his bandages, he was formidable. He reached out with his right hand and touched the fading bruise that marred her jawline. For the first few days, she'd made a halfhearted effort to cover it with makeup, but she'd finally decided she didn't really care that it showed.

  "I didn't take very good care of you, did I?"

/>   His question shocked her. "Didn't— How can you say that? Archer, you saved my life."

  "I never should have brought you to my house. My pride and my cockiness put you in more danger. He targeted you because you were with me." His voice was gruff, his face dark with anger.

  But Resa wasn't intimidated. She knew the anger was aimed at himself, not at her. All she wanted to do was throw her arms around him and kiss him. But she couldn't. If he didn't feel the same way, she wasn't sure how she'd cope. It was much better to just keep her mouth shut and let him walk away. At least her pride would be intact.

  For all the good that would do her.

  "You didn't force me to go to your firing range. I did that all on my own. So it was my fault, not yours. You could say I put you in danger."

  His eyes turned black as deep space. "That's ridiculous. I was supposed to protect you. I had no right to promise you I'd keep you safe."

  "Did you come over here to tell me that you failed to meet your own high standards for hero?" He hadn't cornered the market on anger. She'd been highly irritated at him a number of times, but none of them compared to this.

  "You're just making excuses," she snapped. "And that's fine. I told you before, go on back to your basement and wallow in your wounded pride and your grief and your anger. But I've got to move on. I have to look forward, not back."

  Archer took a step closer to her but she held up her hand. "I'm sorry you feel like you lost everything. If I were in your place I'd probably feel that way, too."

  She took a step forward and raised her chin, putting her face no more than a foot from his. "But do you seriously believe you're not a hero? If that's true, you'd better look around. You're one of a kind, Geoffrey Archer."

  All the anger drained out of her, leaving her feeling empty and alone. She backed away, needing distance. His dark eyes were burning her skin.

  She turned away and picked up her jacket, making a show of folding it and picking a piece of lint off it. "You should go home. I'm going to go to bed early. I've got a lot of catching up to do to have all my clients' dresses finished before the country music awards ceremony in August."